


(Un)Worthy.

by JustAnotherFool



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Bulimia, Caring Crowley (Good Omens), Eating Disorders, Hurt Aziraphale (Good Omens), Hurt/Comfort, I knew nothing about HTML until now, No beta we fall like Crowley, Other, Self-Esteem Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-29
Updated: 2019-07-29
Packaged: 2020-07-25 21:56:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20032975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustAnotherFool/pseuds/JustAnotherFool
Summary: Aziraphale wasunworthy.He did so many bad things.He didn't deserve pleasure.He didn't deserve love.He didn't deserve toeat.He didn't deserve Crowley.





	(Un)Worthy.

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to Shrimp! They were the one to take my prompt!
> 
> And they rocked at it! [Check it yourself!](https://good-omens-kink.dreamwidth.org/616.html?thread=288872)
> 
> That's my first time writing fanfic in English **and** my first time posting anything on AO3.
> 
> (Update: also, a special thanks to Mistrali for pointing out some grammar errors to me, hope it sounds more natural now!)
> 
> ****  
**Hope you like!**  


It shouldn’t matter.

Really, it shouldn't. He was an _angel_. He didn’t have to fit human standards. It’s not as if it had been an issue in the past.

But angels were also supposed to be _beautiful_.

And was he really an angel anymore? He didn't belong in Heaven anymore. Never quite fit there, if he was going to be honest with himself. He’d always been a _poor excuse for an angel_ anyway.

It shouldn’t matter, but it did. It did because Gabriel was right when he told him to _lose the gut_. It did because Aziraphale knew his body was not… Right. He could feel it. He felt it in the way the other angels would look at him back then and in the way people would look at him now. The judgmental glances or, worse still, the pity. Especially when he was with Crowley.

Crowley.

His relationship with Crowley was… Unsettled. Unsettling. They haven’t really discussed it after the Armageddon-that-wasn’t. I mean… They do spend more time together now, since neither of them have to be reporting for their respective bosses, since they are on their own side now. And Crowley invites him over for dinner on the Ritz and even suggested they should have a picnic sometime.

Aziraphale sighed and grabbed forcefully his… _Excess_. His grip tight enough to leave bruises even through his shirt. It was good. A good kind of pain. Grounding.

Even though Crowley could put up with him **on** his side, he would never want someone so excessive **by** his side.

The angel took a deep breath and, slowly, unbuttoned his shirt, the trivial task seeming strangely challenging. His reflection was simply pathetic. Soft. _Disgusting_. How had he allowed himself to let his body in such a poor state? Several millennia of gluttony and self-indulgence marked in his body, reflecting his selfish and broken self.

But he could solve it. There was hope.

Eating was, after all, unnecessary. He didn't even deserve the pleasure at all. Not after all the things he’d done. Not with the brokenness he knew he had inside.

With a final glance at the mirror, Aziraphale made a quiet pledge to stop eating, to purify his body and (maybe) his soul. Perhaps, this way, he would be worthy something.

*

The first few days were easy enough. He kept politely turning down Crowley’s invitations to hang out with the excuse of ‘being too busy with the shop, how unfortunate, maybe tomorrow?’ or ‘having to restore an ancient book to its former glory. A true relic, dear’ or even ‘not in the mood today, I’m so sorry, but I’ll make it up for you’.

It was easy to avoid food when he was alone. It’s not like someone would be keeping track anyway, so he just had to entertain himself enough to forget that emptiness in his stomach. He even deserved the loneliness.

It shouldn’t have been a surprise when Crowley showed up unannounced one day. After all, Aziraphale knew his excuses were getting more ridiculous with each passing day. Especially now, after the apocawasn’t, when he and Crowley had gotten used to seeing each other every day.

It was just a matter of time, really.

“Hey, Angel” He says casually while sauntering in the bookshop. “Since you’ve been so busy lately, I thought I should, I dunno, tempt you to a break and some wine, maybe?” He gestured vaguely towards a wine bottle he’d brought. “You could use a pause”.

“Oh, thank you, dear. It was very… Thoughtful of you”. Aziraphale stopped pretending to dust some already clean books and smiled to Crowley, hoping it didn’t look as feeble as it felt.

Crowley rolled his eyes, which was perceptible even with his sunglasses because his whole head followed the movement, but said nothing in the lines of ‘I’m not nice, remember?’ It seemed pointless to deny it anyway.

“Yeah, whatever. Just come already, it’s not like you have customers here or anything” He was already making his way upstairs.

Aziraphale closed his eyes for a brief moment, gathering the strength to fake a smile while drinking something for the first time in… Four or five days? (It was hard to keep track when you don’t sleep. He was pretty sure he even forgot to open the bookshop once because he got too distracted reading a book. Reading was harder when your head feels light and you get dizzy).

When he got upstairs, Crowley was waiting for him in the armchair, two glasses of wine on the table. He sat facing Crowley, as he had many times before, and took the glass offered to him with a ‘thank you, dear’. Its red content was as unappealing to him as blood would be, but he still took it to his lips and slowly sipped it.

No reasons to make Crowley worried after all.

Having something down his throat and settling in his stomach after so long felt wrong. Not that some days are ‘so long’ for the immortal standards, but he was used to eating every day before… His empty stomach revolved with the liquid’s presence, but Aziraphale forced himself to smile and take another sip.

“Angel?” Crowley was inclined toward him, a frown in his face and sunglasses still on. “Are you alright?”

“Oh, sorry, I must’ve got distracted. I do apologise.” Aziraphale fiddled with his cufflinks. “What did you say again?”

“Just asked how’s business going. You didn’t actually sell any book, did you?”

“Oh, no, God forbid! But some of the customers are quite persistent, I tell you. Sometimes it takes a minor miracle to dissuade them of the purchase” Aziraphale was glad for the small talk. It made Crowley relax visibly and, with some luck, maybe it would be enough to distract him of the fact Aziraphale’s glass laid untouched on the table.

They quickly went from business to movies, music, new restaurants, old tales, new tales and everything and nothing at all. It was nice to simply enjoy Crowley’s company, even though Aziraphale flinched when the demon mentioned the new restaurant. He didn’t know how he could turn down another invitation, especially not while looking Crowley in the eye. Luckily, no invitation came.

It took Crowley six glasses of wine to finally take off his sunglasses.

When he did, Aziraphale felt himself being scrutinized by his gaze.

“Didn’t like the wine, Angel?” He tried to keep the slur in his voice at a minimum. “You barely touched it”.

“Oh, no, no, it’s delicious!” Aziraphale quickly took his glass and forced a large gulp down his throat. “You have an amazing taste, dear boy. Very smooth.” Another gulp to help him swallow his lie.

Well, it wasn’t a lie per se… Crowley did have a good taste, and the wine was, in fact, smooth. What a pity it didn’t feel so smooth being forced in his otherwise empty stomach.

“So… We’re fine?” Crowley was finally drunk enough to muster the courage to ask.

Aziraphale was dumbfounded. What was that even supposed to mean? Of course, they were fine! (Even if Aziraphale himself wasn’t, **they** were).

“I mean…” Crowley struggled to find the right words “We were fine, then you started to avoid me, make excuses and you won’t even drink the wine I brought. Was it something I did?”

“Crowley, no, you did nothing wrong at all!” Aziraphale placed a hesitant hand on the demon’s knee in what he expected to be a reassuring manner. “I’ve just been busy, that’s all. But tomorrow we could, I don’t know, feed the ducks in the park, sound good?”

Feeding the ducks should be a safe enough activity. No restaurant, no obligation to eat, just sit in a bench, throw some seeds at the ducks (because bread was bad to them) and have some small talk. Plus, the walking would be good for him.

“Yeah, sure, sounds good” Crowley still looked kinda suspicious, so Aziraphale drank the rest of his wine and poured some more. Maybe seeing him drinking a second glass would ease Crowley’s worries.

“So, how are your plants?” He tried to change the subject, still feeling guilty for worrying the demon. Crowley deserved better.

They quickly went from ‘dangerous topics’ to ‘just chit-chat’. Aziraphale drank a third glass of wine, still feeling self-conscious, and managed to keep his smile and overall cheerful attitude.

In the end, Aziraphale convinced Crowley he needed to sober up before going home (“because driving in such a condition will most certainly get you discorporated, dear boy”) and took the opportunity to do so himself. He was hardly drunk after just three glasses of wine, but it was nice to get it out of his organism. Felt right, although using a miracle to ‘clean his body’ also felt like cheating. He should do it the right way.

He accompanied Crowley to the door and, as soon as the Bentley disappeared from sight, he felt alone.

Alone and empty.

*

At least, that served to show Aziraphale he couldn’t just ignore Crowley. How foolish of him, really. He couldn’t risk hurting Crowley, making the demon feel as if he had done something wrong. Not when Crowley was nothing but perfect. So kind and thoughtful.

He’d already hurt Crowley enough during the Armageddon, when he said they weren’t even friends. That there was no ‘their own side’. That he didn’t even like the demon.  
He was so cruel.

Aziraphale felt sick now, thinking about it. He was so mean. Angels shouldn’t be mean. It was just another way he failed in being a good angel. In being a good _friend_.

But it would be alright. Everything would end up fine because he was going to shower Crowley with as much affection as he could. No more making excuses. No more worrying Crowley. No more being bad.

He could do it.

And he would start by feeding the ducks with him today.

Crowley picked him up in the Bentley and things seemed normal. The same insane speed, the same casual talk, the same blaming the pedestrians for being on the street, everything was just fine. If only this normalcy sense could soothe the emptiness he felt inside.

Well, fasting should feel like this, right? Purifying oneself wasn't supposed to be easy. Especially when one had wronged so much like Aziraphale did.

“I still don’t see why we can’t just give them bread” Crowley commented while throwing birdseed to the ducks “Bread is a classic!”

“Bread is harmful to them” Aziraphale reminded him “Makes them too fat to fly properly and has low nutritional value” He smiled and tried to think about something, anything, to talk about that wasn’t food.

Luckily, Crowley did it for him:

“So… Sorry ‘bout yesterday. Guess I drank too much and, well, things didn’t come out quite like I expected.” He kept his gaze at the ducks, his pose suggesting casualness. “I mean, I know you weren’t avoiding me or anything.” Despite the nonchalant tone, Aziraphale knew it mattered more than Crowley would admit.

Then the angel did what he thought was right: moved closer to Crowley in the bench, allowing their knees to touch, and placed his hand close to Crowley’s, their pinky fingers brushing slightly.

“Well, I’m glad you did. Made me realise I was not making enough time for you, and you are important to me” He gave Crowley the brighter smile he could muster, hoping it would be enough.

‘You are important to me’ sounded like an understatement. Crowley was the most important person in his life. More than himself. More than Heaven itself. He loved Crowley with every fiber of his being.

But he couldn’t say it. Not yet. Not until he was worth his love. Not until he was worth some love at all.

Crowley noticed the angel’s smile didn’t reach his eyes, but said nothing, opting for intertwining his fingers briefly before standing up and suggesting they should have some ice cream. It’s not that he didn’t want to address the problem, but he didn’t even know what the problem was. And the fear of going ‘too fast’ was enough to keep him from making assumptions or asking too much.

Besides, Aziraphale loved ice cream, and Crowley loved the delighted expression the angel would make whenever he ate something he liked. Maybe a sweet treat would be enough to ease whatever worries his angel had.

Aziraphale loved ice cream.

So it was really shocking when he refused it and said they should go for a stroll instead.

*

Aziraphale knew Crowley was not an idiot.

It would be just a matter of time for him to put two and two together. He was being so blatantly obvious! Always refusing snacks or changing plans so they would go to parks or museums instead of restaurants. And, despite him not turning down Crowley’s invitations anymore, the demon still seemed suspicious.

No matter how hard Aziraphale tried to make their ‘dates’ (I mean, they weren't really dates. Crowley probably just invited him in a friendly way, but Aziraphale liked to pretend they were dates, even if just to fool himself) enjoyable, he never managed to give Crowley the love he deserved. He didn’t even know why! Aziraphale was doing his best. Truly. He complimented Crowley, but not too much or it would sound false. He tried to suggest things he knew Crowley liked (such as suggesting an auto show instead of a picnic, which also served as a non-food option). He even stopped remarking Crowley’s insane speed and disregard for driving rules or safety.

He wasn't just a poor excuse for an angel, he was also a poor excuse for a being of love. He couldn’t even make his special one feel loved. Maybe he didn’t even know how to love someone properly.

Aziraphale hasn’t eaten in about two weeks now. What means Crowley haven’t seen him eating in about two weeks as well. The empty feeling was now just natural to him; the sheer idea of swallowing something was enough to make him sick.

But Crowley loved to see him eating, and taking him to restaurants, and enjoying a good glass of wine. Besides, he would soon enough notice the pattern if Aziraphale didn’t get at least a little bit subtler.

So the angel accepted the invitation to dinner at a new sushi restaurant that just opened on High Street, expecting that a “oh, dear, that sounds lovely” would make all his previous refusals disappear from the demon’s memory.

He knew he would struggle to put on a good smile while forcing down food through his throat, but Crowley deserved the sacrifice. Anything to put him at ease.

Aziraphale poked his soft belly. Almost two weeks of fasting and he was still disgustingly… Wobbly. Flabby. _Unattractive_. Had he lost weight at all? Maybe one pound or two, but not really noticeable.

He was an utterly failure.

*

The sushi restaurant was lovely. A good ambience, tables far apart enough to give some sense of privacy and, of course, the food looked delicious. Crowley even ordered some for himself instead of just a cup of coffee or a glass of ‘whatever-alcoholic-you-have’.

Looking at the menu was torturous enough. So many delicious options… But the guilt of eating them would overpower their flavour. Would make them taste like nothing but sin and fat and weakness. Edible weakness.

He ended up ordering the chef’s special, some appetizers and a glass of low-dosage champagne. He was doing this for Crowley. He was doing this for Crowley. _He was doing this for Crowley_. He repeated mentally like a mantra.

But was he really?

He was doing it for himself. Just a cover-up for the fact he stopped eating. Just a lie because he couldn’t bring himself to admit he was fasting, because somehow it felt like he was doing something _wrong_.

He was just lying to Crowley to protect himself. Selfish as always.

Aziraphale poked the food a little with his chopsticks before taking a deep breath and shoving one sushi in his mouth, chewing it slowly as if appreciating the flavour when, in fact, he was trying not to spit it out.

“That’s scrumptious” He lied through his teeth, a smile on his face. “Truly scrumptious”.

In his head, ‘scrumptious’ became a synonym to ‘nasty’.

“Glad you liked, Angel.” Crowley noticed something was wrong. It’s not like Aziraphale was good at hiding things or anything. “It feels like we haven’t had dinner together in so long. And I know you love sushi” He said casually, hoping that the subtle remark would lead Aziraphale to, maybe, talk about the damn problem!

But patience was a virtue (an annoying one, yeah, but one nonetheless) and the was trying to go slowly, give the angel time and space and whatever. He even ordered food for himself so Aziraphale wouldn’t be the only one eating at the table!

With an internal sigh, Crowley took a bite of his gyoza (it was actually pretty good) and allowed the angel to change the subject to small talk.

For _Somebody’s_ sake, he hoped Aziraphale wouldn’t take too long to talk to him. Or else he might explode.

“Are you alright?” Crowley asked when the angel’s face looked too pale. It was a question he was making fairly often lately.

“Oh, yes, dear, just fine. Why?” Aziraphale had already made his way through half the plate, his stomach stretching uncomfortably after being empty for so long.

“You look pale… If you’re not feeling well, I can take you home”.

“…Yes, actually I think it’d be better” The angel said and got up in a hurry, leaving a good tip and most of his food untouched.

*

“I’m so sorry, Crowley.” Aziraphale wasn’t even sure why he was apologising. For lying? For keeping secrets? For not eating? For being mean to him during the apocalypse? For making Crowley choose him over Hell? For wasting good food in the restaurant? Maybe all of those, maybe neither. He just felt a horrible need to apologise for something. Anything.

“That’s okay, Angel. Not your fault if you feel sick” As far as Crowley knew, angels couldn’t get sick, but Aziraphale could use some reassuring words right now.

No sooner had Crowley stopped in front of the bookshop than Aziraphale got out of the car and apologised once more before entering the building in a hurry. Not a single “thank you for dinner again” or “I hope our next rendezvous will be more pleasant” or any of those amenities Aziraphale was so fond of. He just left.

Crowley repressed the urge to go after his angel. To demand an explanation. To hug him and say everything would be alright (throwing his ‘I’m-not-nice’ façade out the window). To do anything at all. Anything to get rid of this feeling of uselessness.

But it was **too fast**. All his urges were. Aziraphale didn’t need someone chasing after him or demanding explanations or overloading him with touches and loving words. The better he could do now, Crowley thought, was drive back to his flat and talk to the angel tomorrow. Let things settle down a little.

He wanted to murder whoever that first said “patience is a virtue”.

Meanwhile, in the bookshop, Aziraphale felt the guilt stretching in his mind just like his stomach did when he forced food down. How could he just leave Crowley there without saying even a “good night, dear” or some sort of pleasantry? It was so terribly rude of him!

Actually, he left in such a hurry that he wasn’t sure he said something at all. His stomach felt heavy and his head hurts and he was a horrible person. It all was weighting on him.

But he could fix at least one of those.

Sure, he could try to miracle back all the food he’d eaten, just like he usually did with alcohol, but it would be a lot harder… Besides, it felt like cheating. Miracling his own pain away would be just selfishness and self-indulgence, everything he wanted to avoid.

Besides, if he was to repent for his wrongness, wasn’t it supposed to hurt? No easy way out. No shortcuts.

He knew what had to be done.

*

Aziraphale made his way to the bathroom upstairs (he had none in the bookshop. Just another way to keep customers away), his steps alternating between fast-paced for the urge to clean his body and slow-paced for the fear of what he was going to do.

Somehow, he knew there would be no going back once he did it.

But he just wanted to feel clean. Angelic. _Worthy_.

So he inclined his body towards the bathtub (just another of his shameful self-indulgencies… He thought about using the toilet, but the bathtub seemed like a safer choice. Less likely to miss it or make a mess in general) and brought three fingers to his mouth.

He could do this. He saw people doing it many times through history. Aristocrats who would make themselves vomit to keep eating in fancy parties (which he, and many others at the time, considered outrageous), young people who would do the same out of despair for pursuing the ‘ideal image’ according to the current standards or just unlucky people who wanted some relief from food poisoning before medicine was available. 

Instead of kneeling besides the bathtub, he stood there and leaned forward until his face was lower than his stomach. Not the prettiest or most comfortable pose, but this way gravity would help him purge. He grasped the edges of the bathtub with his free hand whilst the other made its way to the little lump at the back of his tongue. His disgustingly plump fingers poked and moved in circular movements, inciting the gag reflex.

Soon, his fingers were covered in saliva while his body coughed to try and expulse the intrusive digits. With each cough, Aziraphale forced them down harder. Drool started to run down his arm and drip to the bathtub. He let go of the bathtub edge to punch his stomach, forcing it to empty. Even though he didn’t need to breathe, the angel found himself focusing on his breath, the rhythm was strangely soothing amidst the gagging and the saliva.

After what seemed like an eternity, he felt the nasty food going up his throat. His saliva-covered fingers were also covered with vomit because he wasn't fast enough to remove them before spilling his guts. Besides, he kept poking and pressing that particular point below his uvula to cause another wave of vomit. He wasn’t empty yet. He could feel it.

It wasn’t until his vomit was ‘clean’ that he felt satisfied and got back in a upright position. After the initial dizziness, he washed his hands and rinsed his mouth. The acidic taste was awfully impregnated in his tongue and his throat felt raw.

After grabbing a towel to dry his hands, arms and face, Aziraphale kneelt by the bathtub, don’t finding it in him to remain standing, and looked at the mess he’d made. Some vomit had splattered in the edges of the bathtub and he could distinguish some solid remains of the sushi, the nori was almost intact and the half-digested vegetables and fish gave the vomit some colour and texture.

It wasn't a very _angelic_ sight.

Now he could see Gabriel’s point when he called food ‘gross matter’.

At the same time, he was oddly proud for getting rid of it without a miracle. All by himself. It felt… Empowering. He could control it. Had control over it. Even if Aziraphale couldn’t get anything else right, he could do this.

He turned on the tap and watched the gross matter going down the drain. Doing it in the bathtub was a good choice. Soon, everything was clean and no miracle was needed at all.

The bathtub was clean.

His body was clean.

Even his thoughts were strangely… Clean. His head felt a little heavy and he knew he would get dizzy if he tried to get up too fast, but there were no bad thoughts.

It was the first time in a long while that things felt just… Fine.

*

Practice makes perfect.

Aziraphale tried to convince himself that was a one-time thing. Not going to happen again. No chance. Nope.

Then it did.

Again.

Again.

Again.

It didn’t even take that long now. He could vomit within few minutes of attempting. He almost didn’t gag that much either. Not anymore. It was just lean down, poke around with three fingers a little bit and force his stomach a little (he didn’t even need to punch it, just contract his belly muscles repeatedly). Easy peasy.

Also, the vomit didn’t look that disgusting anymore.

Aziraphale knew he should feel sick for making it a habit, but he didn’t. In fact, it was quite the opposite. He have never felt better.

Now he could have his rendezvous with Crowley without having to come up with excuses for not eating. He stopped worrying the demon and didn’t have to sacrifice his fasting for it. A win-win.

And, if his throat aches a little every now and then, he feels dizzy or has to drink milk to soothe the acid in his stomach, well, he deserved it, didn’t he?

Aziraphale knew he didn’t deserve the pleasure of eating, but now that ‘scrumptious’ was a synonym to ‘nasty’ and all he could think about between every bite was how the food would look like after being half-digested, it wasn’t that pleasurable anymore.

It was how he deserved to eat. How eating was supposed to be to sinners.

Well, no time to think about such nonsense. Crowley had invited him round for dinner. It’s not like Aziraphale had never been in his flat before, but it was the first time they would have dinner there. Besides, Aziraphale felt something warm inside every time Crowley invited him round. It felt… Intimate.

He checked his attire in the mirror and, of course, couldn’t help but look at his body too. His weight had been fluctuating lately. Nothing too noticeable, but definitely there. Some less pounds after a couple of days fasting, some more pounds after indulging in meals and then purging (well, it wasn’t exactly ‘more pounds’, he was just gaining back the few he’d lost with fasting). No matter how fast you vomit after eating, your body will still absorb most of the nutrients. Of the fat.

(Luckily for him, Crowley had always driven pretty fast. Insanely fast even. So he could purge soon enough after eating. He even asked Crowley to go a little faster on a remarkable occasion, when the restaurant was too far from the bookshop. But Crowley gave him an odd stare, so he avoided doing it again)

Anyhow, Aziraphale found out he didn’t care all that much anymore.

Yes, he should lose the gut, but it didn’t feel as urgent as it had before.

He had something better now. He had control. He found a way to make things so everybody would win: Crowley would be happy for seeing him eating; he would be punished as he deserved; and maybe, just maybe, self-punishing would be enough to make him worthy.

Win-win. And he would not take criticism.

*

“Hope you like it, Angel” Crowley put a plate in front of him with a flourish “I made it myself”.

Aziraphale was surprised. Sure, he knew Crowley used to cook as part of his nanny job, but he always assumed he just miracled the food into existence or something. He never thought Crowley actually cooked.

On the plate lay fettuccine, smoked salmon and some sauce with dill. It looked delicious. And Crowley cooked it himself just for him.

So why didn’t it look appealing at all?

Aziraphale could feel the love Crowley had put in making the meal. For him.

But he didn't deserve it. Neither the meal nor the love, nothing.

Guilt crept its way into his mind. Crowley had taken his time to cook for him, still all he could think about was how awful it would taste going up his throat. How awful he would feel for throwing up something Crowley made himself.

“You ok, Angel?” 

Aziraphale realised he went silent for far too long.

“Tickety-boo” He lied through his teeth “Sorry, dear, just… Lost in my thoughts. It’s all’.

“Oh” He couldn’t tell if Crowley really bought his lie “A penny for your thoughts, then?” The demon took off his sunglasses. Aziraphale felt his serpentine eyes bore into his soul.

“I didn’t quite expect you to cook. You just surprised me” He forced what he hoped to be a bright smile and took the fork to his mouth. “That’s delicious”

“…Thanks” That’s it, Crowley thought, I’ve had enough. Patience to be _damned_. Something was seriously wrong and he wouldn't just sit around and wait. They would have a really long talk after dinner even if it kills them both.

Dinner felt like a cold war.

Aziraphale had eaten half of his meal when he realised a teeny-tiny miscalculation: how would he purge? He didn’t feel like doing it in Crowley’s place. It’d feel like tainting the place. He couldn’t do it to Crowley.

Not ever.

Well… Crowley’s flat wasn’t that far from the bookshop, especially with the speed Crowley drives. Maybe he should…?

“Oh, dear!” He faked his better ‘worried tone’. It wasn’t that hard, since he was actually worried. With the food being digested in his stomach, sure, but worried nonetheless. “I forgot something really important at the bookshop! Silly me.” He ate one last bite of fettuccine just to leave less than half of the plate untouched. It would be terribly rude otherwise. “Would you mind giving me a lift home?”

“Actually, I was hoping we could talk after dinner.” Aziraphale could see how serious Crowley was. “And you haven’t even finished your meal yet. Didn’t like it?”

“Oh, no, it’s delicious” The angel forced another forkful down his throat. “I’m just… Full. Maybe we should just move on and talk already”.

That’s ok, Aziraphale repeated mentally, it’s just a talk. It’s not about that. Crowley doesn’t know. He couldn’t know. Everything would be fine.

He couldn’t even deceive himself. He was such a poor liar.

That’s why Crowley was worried. That’s why he probably noticed everything.

“Well, I’ll just get some wine beforehand. Will be back in a couple minutes” Crowley could’ve easily miracled it, but he wanted some minutes to prepare and think about what to say. Even though he was the one asking for the talk in the first place, he had no idea how to actually proceed.

Besides, it was safe having some alcohol around. Just in case he didn’t feel like being completely sober at some point of the conversation.

*

Control.

He had no control.

None at all.

He ate too much because he had no control.

He worried Crowley because he had no control.

He was uncontrollably pathetic.

Now Crowley would have a long talk with him. Waste his time with him. And, even if he were lucky enough to get along and soothe Crowley’s concern, there was no way he would be able to purge in time. It’d be already too late.

Then Aziraphale saw the trash bin in the kitchen.

It would be degrading. Worse than hiding in the bathroom. But he just had some minutes.

And he deserved to be degraded.

If he were fast enough, Crowley would never be any the wiser. He would get back some control. He would be able to survive whatever was going to happen. He would be fine.

The next thing he knew he was leaning over a trash bin with his fingers soaked in saliva and vomit and staring at the former contents of his stomach among the litter. Crowley had cooked that with so much love… Now it was just _waste_.

Aziraphale pushed his fingers a little more forcefully, feeling another wave of nausea and vomit coming up. Then light steps came into the kitchen and an unexpected hand was on his shoulder.

“Angel” Crowley said, the brokenness in his tone was enough to make Aziraphale’s legs weak and he knelt by the bin, trembling and still vomiting.

It was shameful.

Crowley hadn’t expected that scene when he came back, but he couldn’t say he was surprised. He was sad, mad (not at his angel, but at the situation as a whole), confused, but not surprised. So he put the wine bottle aside and walked quietly towards Aziraphale. The angel started trembling and got to his knees when Crowley touched him, but didn’t acknowledge his presence at all.

“That’s okay, Angel” Crowley knelt besides him and caressed his back in slow patterns. “Just breathe. Things will be fine”.

Soon his soothing words became nonsense sounds and, at last, a gently low hissing. It didn’t matter, the hissing was as comforting as any word, maybe even better. Aziraphale wasn’t vomiting anymore, he was just staring at the bin and rubbing his wet fingers against one another absentmindedly.

Part of him wanted to snap out of Crowley’s gentle touch, for he was dirty and undeserving; the other part simply wanted to feel his caress and believe it would be alright. If only he could freeze time, just cherish Crowley’s loving touch and soft hissing forever, with no aftermath, he would.

But he couldn’t.

“Here” Crowley miracled him a soft cloth so he could clean his hands and mouth. “Now, we should talk” Although it was worded as a suggestion, it wasn't one.

Aziraphale just nodded, knowing he couldn’t quite trust his voice yet, and followed him quietly to the sofa.

The silence was deafening.

*

Crowley poured some wine in a glass, miracled it into water and offered it to Aziraphale, who accepted gratefully but couldn’t bring himself to look at Crowley in the eye. He was ashamed. Degraded. That was the last thing he wanted Crowley to see.

“Feeling better?” Crowley asked for lack of a better idea. How do you even approach something like that? And demons weren’t known by their extraordinary empathy either.

Then, again, if seeing Aziraphale hurting made his own heart ache, maybe he was empathetic after all.

Aziraphale took a gulp of water before answering, hoping it would wash away the bitter but familiar taste in his mouth and throat, besides buying him some time.

He felt empty, but for the first time it wasn't accompanied by the hazy euphoria. It was just… Emptiness. And shame.

“No”

Another dreadfully long pause.

“How long?” Crowley loathed questioning his angel like this, but he needed to know. How long had it been going on? Right in front of his eyes?

“A couple months, I guess…” Aziraphale lost his track of time after the first few weeks fasting and purging. Why would he keep track anyway? He already knew he was a pathetic excuse for an angel.

“I see…” You could probably hear a pin drop. Aziraphale was usually the most talkative of them, Crowley felt lost with this silent version. “Why?” He made the problematic question. Aziraphale opened and closed his mouth several times before just giving up and crying. He didn’t even remember the last time he’d cried. How pathetic.

Crowley got closer and cupped his face gently, wiping away his tears with an understanding expression Aziraphale didn't deserve.

“Stop it!” Aziraphale exclaimed, but didn’t attempt to move away from Crowley. “I don’t deserve it!”

“You don’t deserve what?” Crowley’s eyes were wide open.

“You! Your kindness. Your caring touches. Your time. I don’t deserve it!” He broke down.

Crowley let go of his face to put some space between them, but kept his hand on the angel’s thigh reassuringly. The wine bottle was tempting, but he felt he ought to be sober for that talk.

“That’s it then? You think you don’t deserve nice things?” Nor food, the demon added mentally, nor me.

Aziraphale lowered his eyes and nodded.

“It’s silly, I’m just being foolish…” He tried to force a smile between his tears-stained cheeks.

“It’s not! And you are not! If it’s hurting you, it matters.” Crowley said a bit more forcefully than he intended. “Please, Aziraphale, just… Talk to me. Please.” He added in a more pleading tone.

“It started with a harmless remark. Gabriel said I should lose the gut, that I was too soft.” Aziraphale caught himself speaking, even if just to make Crowley stop begging. Crowley didn’t deserve it. “It didn’t bother me that much then, but after… Everything… It did.”

Crowley squeezed his thigh slightly, coaxing him to continue.

“I mean, I know my body… This vessel… isn't beautiful. But people keep giving us glances when I’m with you and whispering… Then I started fasting and it felt good. I felt dizzy and empty and hollow, but it felt right. Like I was purifying myself. Like all my errors could be redeemable. Like I could be redeemable.”

Even though Crowley was having some pretty homicidal thoughts regarding a certain archangel and some nosy humans, he just nodded, fearing that Aziraphale would shut himself off again if he were interrupted.

“I committed so many misdeeds, Crowley. I watched Heaven _kill_ people and did nothing. I killed people. I was awful to you when you were my only friend. The only one who cared about me. I cannot go back in time and fix things, but I can do it. I can control it!”

His voice got so small Crowley had to get closer to listen.

“Then you got worried and I hated myself for worrying you. I had to pretend everything was fine, so I ate with you. I forced food I didn’t deserve down my throat and couldn’t bear the feeling. The guilt. So I… Purged. Purged it all, the food, the guilt, the thoughts. Got rid of them all. Again, again and again. I just… Couldn’t stop once I started.”

For the first time in this conversation, Aziraphale looked at Crowley’s eyes.

“I’m sorry” He didn’t know if he was apologising for the breakdown, for the lies, for wasting his time or just for existing at all.

“Angel” He put his hand back on Aziraphale’s face. There were a million thoughts in his head. So many things he wanted to say. But just one felt right: “Aziraphale, _I forgive you._”

Aziraphale’s eyes got almost comically wide. That surely wasn’t what he expected.

“Once I told you I was unforgivable.” Crowley proceeded. “And you forgave me. Well, I forgive you too. Whatever you did in Heaven’s name. All the things you said to me. Whether you like it or not, I forgive you. You’ve suffered enough.”

“Crowley… You can’t just… Forgive me like that!”

“Sure thing I can” Crowley smiled for the first time since they sat in the sofa. “But can you?”

Aziraphale went silent.

“I think you deserve good things. You deserve to eat. You deserve caring. And you sure as _Someplace_ deserve my love. I don’t give a fuck about what other people think about us, humans or otherwise.”

“…Have you just said…?” The angel took his time to process things.

“I love you.” Crowley repeated. “Aziraphale, I love you. I’ve loved you for over 6000 years. I love you, I love your body, I love your softness, I love how you say things like ‘bebop’ and ‘tickety-boo’. _I love you_.” Maybe it was an over-the-top way of confessing, but Crowley had waited for it for six thousand years and his angel needed some reassurance. He was allowed to be cheesy.

“You do?” A hint of hope glowed in Aziraphale’s eyes. “You’re not saying it just for…?”

“I mean it” He caressed the angel’s cheek softly. “You don’t have to answer now, just... Keep safe, ok?”

Aziraphale nodded, don’t trusting his voice enough to try and say something. Crowley loved him. Crowley loved him and he loved Crowley, still he couldn’t bring himself to say anything. He still felt… Unworthy.

“Good” Crowley nodded as well, hoping he didn’t mess up anything while trying to be the caring one in the conversation. “Now, I know sleeping isn’t really your thing, but you look like you could use some right now. Wanna use my bed? That’s, if you’d like…”

Aziraphale wondered if he looked as exhausted as he felt.

“Yes, I’d like that. Thank you, dear.”

“No problem. We can sort things out tomorrow. Now you should rest.”

Crowley walked him to the bedroom. The luxurious bed was soft and welcoming, but Aziraphale hesitated, looking down at his clothes. Would it be awkward if he lay down fully clothed? It’s not like he had any pyjamas (he wasn’t used to sleeping after all) and, well, the idea of undressing wasn't appealing at all. Especially in Crowley’s bedroom.

It felt silly. Crowley had just declared his love and still he couldn’t bear the thought of Crowley seeing his body. He felt ashamed.

“Here” Crowley miracled him a soft light-blue pyjama. “I’ll, uh, get out so you can change.”

As soon as Crowley closed the door after him, Aziraphale stared at the just-made-into-existence pyjama. It looked quite nice and comfortable. Looked like something he didn’t deserve.

But Crowley made them just for him. He could feel the love in them.

Crowley forgave him.

With a sigh, he began undressing. Slowly and deliberately. He could just miracle it on, but frivolous miracles made him feel worse lately. More selfish. Besides, some part of him still believed he deserved some torturing, even if just seeing and touching his ugly body.

“Angel?” Crowley knocked lightly in the door after some minutes. "May I come in?” It felt odd asking for permission to get in his own room, but he wanted to give Aziraphale some privacy. He didn’t quite understand all that was going on the angel’s mind, but he was doing his better.

“Yes, dear” Aziraphale was sitting awkwardly on the bed, pyjamas on and clothes carefully folded and put aside.

“I brought some blankets.”

Crowley dimmed the lights and tucked Aziraphale in. Weirdness aside, he found out he liked to care for the angel openly like this. When Aziraphale was all nice and settled in, Crowley walked towards the door to leave him alone.

“…Crowley, wait.” Aziraphale said in a small voice. “Could you, maybe… Stay?”

He didn’t want to be left alone. He’d felt alone for the past months. Loneliness hitting him even when he wasn’t alone at all.

“Sure, Angel” Crowley sat at the edge of the bed, just like he would do with Warlock when the boy had nightmares. “Now sleep” He hummed a song absentmindedly, not sure if it was Queen or one of Warlock’s lullabies.

It worked nonetheless. Aziraphale fell asleep peacefully and Crowley spent the whole night watching over him and pondering what to do tomorrow.

It was good having things out in the open. Now at least he could address the problem instead of wondering and feeling useless. But they still had a long way to go.

*

Aziraphale woke up alone.

Worry crept its way through his mind at once. What if Crowley regretted what he said? What if he wanted to take it all back? Of course he’d want to take it all back. Who in their right mind would love a broken angel? How foolish he had been.

Then the angel heard some noise in the kitchen and smelled something quite good coming from there. Despite the voice in his head saying he should just go away and hide in shame, he decided to take a look. In the worst case, he owed Crowley a ‘thank you’ for the pyjamas and for letting him stay the night.

In the best case… Well, he didn’t want to let his hopes too high.

(He miracled his clothes back on, not wanting Crowley to see him in a well-lighted place with just the thin but comfy pyjamas on nor having the patience to change in the human way)

“Oh, Angel, you’re awake. Good” Crowley greeted him whilst packing a picnic basket. “Slept well?”

“…Yes. Quite.” He stood by the door, reluctant to get closer. “What are you doing?”

“Well, I thought we could have that picnic, you know? The one we talked about long ago” Crowley tried to sound nonchalant and failed miserably. “I mean, you don’t have to eat or anything if you don’t feel like it… Just thought a change of scenery would do us both some good.”

“Oh, yes, I think it would be lovely” Aziraphale smiled and, somehow, he actually meant it. He’d spent the last months afraid of Crowley’s reaction if the demon ever found out his brokenness, but now that everything was said and done, he felt so much lighter. It would be good hanging out with Crowley without fretting over keeping up appearances or not vomiting.

Maybe he could even enjoy himself, Aziraphale thought, allowing a little bit of hope to settle in his mind.

Crowley held his hand all the way to the park. Aziraphale remarked it wasn't safe to drive without both hands on the wheel, but did nothing to disentangle their hands. Crowley had done more reckless things while driving before… And he was even driving in a reasonable speed for once.

They found a ‘miraculously’ empty spot (as Crowley had put it) and the demon started setting up the picnic. Basket aside, blanket on the grass and carefully packed food neatly arranged on plates. Crowley had made sandwiches and a pie.

“These ones are peanut butter and banana” He pointed to some sandwiches “400 calories each” He felt the need to remark it. After all, he spent a fair amount of time researching healthy low-calorie food that didn’t look disgusting “That ones are grilled cheese with mushroom, if you’d prefer something salty. 300 calories each. Very healthy.”

Crowley got a sandwich for himself and bit it slowly. For something ‘healthy and almost carb-free’, it tasted pretty good.

“But you don’t have to eat them, of course” He added. “Just… Try to keep things in your stomach if you decide to eat, ok? I won't judge you or anything.” Aziraphale nodded gratefully. Seemed fair enough.

They spent some time just like that. Enjoying each other’s company. Staying close. Commenting nonsense about ducks or the weather or anything at all. It was nice.

It took Aziraphale half an hour to grab, hesitantly, a sandwich. Crowley pretended to see something rather interesting in the lake with the ducks, so the angel wouldn’t feel pressured. He took his time unwrapping the sandwich and, slowly, took it to his mouth.

“Did you know duck’s quack does actually echo? A lot of people believe it doesn’t…” Crowley said the first thing that came to mind. “And male ducks are called ‘drakes’, what a stupid name to call a duck.”

Aziraphale hummed in acknowledgement.

He managed to eat half sandwich before giving up and handing the remaining half to Crowley, who accepted it without a word. It didn’t feel safe to comment on Aziraphale’s eating or appearance yet. The wound was too fresh, too much chance of backfiring.

They talked a little more about unimportant things. Retold old stories, joked a little, held hands absentmindedly and enjoyed the pleasant silence of a quiet park.

“So, my dear, I was wondering…” Aziraphale broke the silence, voice small, unsure. “…What you said when my bookshop burned down, the… Offer… You made…” He looked down, still feeling like he was asking too much. Unworthy of any favors.

But he was so tired of being alone. Of feeling lonely.

“Sure, the offer still stands.” Crowley quickly reassured him. “You can stay at my place, Aziraphale. Always. Or I could stay at yours. We can sort things out.” He squeezed the angel’s hand. Aziraphale smiled.

This time, the smile reached his eyes.

“Oh, thank you, Crowley. I’d like that.”

“Good” Crowley looked for something to change the subject “So, I don’t think you can stomach an apple pie right now, but what about a more old-fashioned temptation?” He reached for the basket and took a bright red apple, displaying it proudly.

(He had to yell quite a lot at an apple tree to get it with so little antecedence. It wasn’t even apple season yet)

Aziraphale couldn’t help but smile when the ‘Wily Old Serpent-of-Eden’ offered him the apple, and he took a bite just for the sake of the metaphor (and to see Crowley’s pleased face) before giving the rest to Crowley.

It was juicy and delicious. A part of him still wondered how it would taste coming up again, but he just squeezed Crowley’s hand and allowed himself to enjoy the taste. He was a being of love after all, he could relearn how to love himself. It would be hard, but Crowley would be by his side.

Even if things get bad in the future, if he relapses or have days so bad he won’t want to get out of bed or look at his body or be touched, Crowley will be there.

For now, things are all right. As right as they can be.

Maybe he is worthy love. Crowley seems to think so at least. And Aziraphale wants so badly to believe it himself.

“You’ll be okay, Angel.” Crowley said out of the blue, wrapping his arm around his shoulder.

Aziraphale believed him.

**Author's Note:**

> It got longer than I expected, but I'm pretty proud of it.
> 
> My main worries are characterization and grammar, so please let me know what you think!
> 
> (Also, it was kinda harder to learn how AO3 formatting works than to write it at all)
> 
> Hope you enjoyed! Bye! ❤


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